


like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky

by ashers_kiss



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, F/F, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 16:45:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2628983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashers_kiss/pseuds/ashers_kiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha’s been gone almost three weeks, and Darcy’s…Darcy’s maybe starting to worry.</p><p>Or:  Natasha meets Jane, and is more stubborn than Darcy thought possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky

**Author's Note:**

> For [amine-eyes](http://amine-eyes.tumblr.com/)' birthday. (...Which was over two months ago, because I suck. I'mma blame it on college and trying to get as many shifts as I can, okay? Okay.) Because she was such a huge help with the first one, and I love her. Even when she's evil. :D?
> 
> (Also she _totally_ bunnied me for something else involved in this verse this weekend, and this had to be done first, so.)
> 
> Same verse as [gonna lure you into the dark](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1038494), a few months later.
> 
> Title from [Summertime Sadness](http://dark-siren.tumblr.com/post/90789977831/frisson-schism-i-dont-know-what-i-was) by Angel Haze. (Okay, it's technically by Lana del Rey, and I do love her, but I really prefer Angel's cover. And when I say prefer, I mean _adore_.)

Natasha’s been gone almost three weeks, and Darcy’s…Darcy’s maybe starting to worry.

It’s not like she isn’t used to it by now. Ever since they started this thing (six months next week, but who’s counting?), Natasha’s been disappearing for days at a time, doing whatever it is she does that Darcy isn’t allowed to know about. She’s never been gone more than a few days, till now.

Now, Darcy’s eye keeps catching on the booth she’s started thinking of as Natasha’s (there’s some boys in shiny shoes being too loud in there now; Natasha would clear them out with a tilt of her head and the glint of something Darcy isn’t supposed to see, like she always does. Then she’d slide on in and loosen off her tie, smile nice and soft for Darcy under the rim of her hat, and Darcy would have to force herself to stay on stage. Like she always does). She stumbles over a word or two, one of the band boys glaring up at her. Darcy flaps a hand at him, sharp and tight against her leg, but she’s all over the place, she knows. She lifts her chin and doesn’t think about the scars Natasha will tell her about sometimes, or the ones she won’t, not ever. The loud boys are still in Natasha’s booth.

After the set, she thunks her head down on the bar and doesn’t lift it till Logan slides her a beer. “Tell me that wasn’t as bad as I think.” She’s not begging, she’s _not_ , but it’s probably pretty close. Logan just grunts at her, and that’s all the answer Darcy needs, really. “Fuck,” she says, and knocks half her bottle back in one.

She walks home, even though Thor gave her cab fare for the week, and then some. And Darcy feels bad, she does, and she knows it’s all in her head, but the notes feel tacky, almost sticky against her skin. (She’s given up saying no, mind. She can’t handle Thor’s kicked puppy routine. Instead, there’s quite a collection growing in her top drawer, and God help them if Thor’s daddy ever decides to…visit. Then again, even God probably wouldn’t be much good then.) Besides, she has her gun – bought from Logan with her own money, small enough to fit in her purse and without the kick that always left her wincing with her own daddy’s shotgun. Natasha had all but fucking _purred_ the first time Darcy showed her, pushed herself up nice and close against Darcy and kissed her senseless, till her head spun and she was glad she was lying down.

All that, and the fact it’s a nice place Thor moved them to, all shiny floors and fancy lights in the lobby. The doorman tips his hat to her, and Darcy still isn’t used to that. Pretty sure she never will be.

The door to their old place used to stick, caught in the warped frame, and Darcy’s shoulder still aches, sometimes, vague and distant but definitely _there_. This one shouldn’t stick, should glide right open with barely a touch, but it does, more often than not, because Darcy got herself a crazy smart best friend who hasn’t the sense she was born with. This time, Jane’s left three different books lying at the door, and Darcy trips over all of them. She’s already yelling when she heads into the front room, no fucking doubt that was something _important_ that just crumpled under her heel and tomorrow she’ll have to put up with Jane’s sulking over it, but at least this time she remembered to turn on the lamps – and Jane’s talking, saying her name over and over, and Darcy just stares, because – 

Because Natasha is sitting on her couch with her shirtsleeves rolled up, fingers wrapped around one of those fancy little teacups Jane bought, hair pinned back tight and lips curved just ever so slightly.

Admittedly, when Darcy drops herself in her lap, she doesn’t know quite if she’s going to kiss her, or strangle her. She settles on kissing, but only because Natasha’s oh so careful to put the cup down before her hands slide to Darcy’s hips, like she knows it’s important – of course she does, she probably knows how many times Jane’s twitched _just so_ since she brought them out – and Natasha makes an approving noise into her mouth, soft and quiet, before she nips at Darcy’s bottom lip and pulls back. Darcy isn’t entirely responsible for the way her hands tighten in Natasha’s shirt in protest, creasing it all to hell, but then she hears Jane, saying, “I – I should go, I’ll just – ”

_Fuck._

Natasha shifts under her (which can’t be all that easy, what with Darcy clinging to her, face blazing hot and buried in against her throat), and says, “Please. I do not want you to feel unwelcome in your home.”

Darcy, voice muffled by Natasha’s collar, offers, “Jane, this is Natasha. Nat, Jane.”

“Yeah, think we might be past that bit, Darcy, thanks,” Jane says, and for someone who calls herself shy, she sure ain’t quiet about making her opinions heard. In her own way. Darcy twists round to stick her tongue out at her, and feels the huff of Natasha’s laugh against the back of her neck.

Later, when Jane’s finally taken herself off to bed (and Darcy managed to talk her down to taking just the one book with her), Darcy drags Natasha to her room. “Jane is very…enthusiastic,” Natasha says between kisses, sounding the word out carefully, and Darcy grins.

“You can say nosy, y’know. And when you do, I’m gonna say I told you so.”

“Shut up, Darcy.”

“Bossy bossy.” This time, it’s Darcy’s turn to pull back from the kiss. It’s worth it, if only for Natasha’s frustrated little noise. “I’m going to be pretty pissed at you come morning, doll. That was a real shitty trick.”

The frustrated noise isn’t quite so much fun this time. “It was work,” Natasha grits out.

“Yeah.” Darcy pulls the pins from her curls, fluffs them out. Natasha arches an eyebrow; in the light of Darcy’s fancy little lamp, it almost looks like she has some kind of halo. “Missed you, is all.”

Something about Natasha’s face softens, somewhere around her eyes, and there’s a smile lurking in the corner of her mouth. “I missed you too, _ptichka_.” She says that, sometimes, and Darcy still doesn’t know what it means but it never fails to melt something deep in her chest (sometimes she figures that’s probably why Natasha does it), so she gets hold of Natasha’s shirt and pulls her down on to the ridiculously huge bed. (Biggest bed she’s ever had in her _life_ ; she and _both_ her sisters could’ve fit in with room to spare, instead of crammed in on top of each other – and oh no, if there’s one thing she isn’t thinking about _now_ it’s family.)

Natasha hisses as she lands, though, the tiniest sound that Darcy only hears because she’s so close, and Darcy feels something drop in her belly. Something hard and heavy and not good. “Hey, hey, c’mon, up, sit up for me,” she orders, pulling as careful as she dares. Natasha’s got that set to her jaw that means she ain’t talking, and that’s just fine, Darcy doesn’t need her to talk, she just needs her to do as she’s _told_.

She tugs Natasha’s shirt out from her waistband, doesn’t waste time with the buttons, just yanks it up and sucks in a breath so sharp it _hurts_ , but not nearly as much as Natasha must be hurting. There’s bruising covering her entire right side, ugly red and purple blotches that creep up towards her chest and down to her hip. Everything looks _swollen_ , hot and painful to the touch, and Darcy bites down on the inside of her cheek.

She _threw_ herself into Natasha’s lap, before. And Natasha just took it.

“It is nothing,” Natasha says, back straight and stiff; Darcy can’t tell if it hurts or if she’s just pissed.

“I don’t know what to tell you, doll, but that ain’t nothin’.” She drops the shirt and starts on the buttons. She even gets a few open before Natasha’s hands close around her wrists – not tight, but not enough for her to pull away either.

“Darcy. I’m.” She makes another of those noises, irritated, lowers her head just barely, like she can’t think of the word. “I am fine.”

“You’re not. You’re really not.” Darcy tugs, and Natasha lets go, hands dropping to rest on her thighs. She doesn’t look like she’s giving in – she looks ready to bolt, eyes flickering to the side under her lashes, and no, _hell_ no.

So Darcy doesn’t go back to the shirt. She frames Natasha’s jaw with both hands, meets her eyes when she finally looks up, startled. Like she expected Darcy to keep pushing. (And one of these days, Darcy would like to introduce her fist to the face of whoever made her think like that.) “I’m not asking, darling,” she says, soft. Something in Natasha eases just from that, in her eyes, the way she’s holding herself. “But you’re hurtin’, and I can’t stand that. I want to help.” To look after you, she doesn’t say.

Natasha looks like she might, maybe, be considering it. Maybe. “Did not take you for a nurse,” she murmurs. Darcy snorts.

“Well, no, but my brother went and got himself kicked by a horse once. It doesn’t look that much different.” If she’d been kicked by _ten_ horses. Darcy doesn’t say that either. “Unless something’s broken?”

Natasha shakes her head, quick, curls rustling, sliding over Darcy’s skin. “I am not so breakable.”

“Sure you’re not,” Darcy says easily. It’s not a lie. “Lemme get this off, yeah? I’ve got some cold cream somewhere – or there’s a bath, hot water and everything, I can run you a bath, if you want?”

“Tomorrow, maybe,” Natasha says. Her hand curls over Darcy’s hip, thumb rubbing along the bone through her dress. Darcy knows she can’t feel it, under the material, and something warm settles in her chest that Natasha just _knows_.

“All right.” She drops a quick, soft kiss on Natasha’s lips and pulls back to start back on the shirt. “Hot towels and cream tonight then. C’mon, help me with this, I don’t know why you have to wear such stiff little buttons…”

Natasha laughs, a puff of air against Darcy’s forehead, and makes quicker work of them all with one hand than Darcy ever could with both.

She’s cranky in the morning, silent and stiff after a night of being still, and she won’t let Darcy help her to the bathroom, limping the whole way. But ten, fifteen minutes in the bath – hotter than Darcy could handle, but she sank into it with a sigh and the closest thing Darcy’s seen to a smile all morning – and she reaches out to where Darcy’s sitting on the edge, babbling on about everything she’s missed (nothing important, nothing as exciting or apparently dangerous as she’s been doing, and one day, Darcy’s going to have _words_ with her boss), and takes one of Darcy’s hands with her wet one.

Darcy doesn’t stop talking, doesn’t even waver, but she squeezes tight and smiles, even though Natasha’s got her eyes closed and her head tipped back.

She still smiles back, though.


End file.
